“I understand, sir,” Bosch said. “But we need to start over now. We need to reinvestigate the case. That was what Howard Elias was doing. We have reason to believe that he knew what I just told you. Only he also knew or had a pretty good idea who the actual killer was. We think that got him killed.”

Sam Kincaid looked surprised.

“But the TV said a little while ago that — ”

“The TV’s wrong, Mr. Kincaid. It’s wrong and we’re right.”

Kincaid nodded. His eyes wandered out to the view and the smog.

“What do you want from us?” Kate Kincaid said.

“Your help. Your cooperation. I know we are hitting you out of the blue with this so we’re not expecting you to drop everything. But as you can tell if you’ve been watching TV, time isn’t something we have a lot of.”

“You have our full cooperation,” Sam Kincaid said. “And D.C. here can do whatever you need him to do.”

Bosch looked from Kincaid to the security man and then back to Kincaid.

“I don’t think that will be necessary. We just have a few more questions for right now and then tomorrow we want to come back and start the case over.”

“Of course. What are your questions?”

“Howard Elias learned what I just told you because of an anonymous note that came in the mail. Do either of you know who that could have come from? Who would have known about the Volvo going to that car wash?”

There was no answer for a long time.

“Just me,” Kate Kincaid said. “I don’t know who else. I don’t remember telling anyone I went there. Why would I?”

“Did you send Howard Elias the note?”

“No. Of course not. Why would I help Michael Harris? I thought he was the one who . . . who took my daughter. Now you tell me he is innocent and I think I believe you. But before, no, I wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help him.”

Bosch studied her as she spoke. Her eyes moved from the coffee table to the view and then to her hands clasped in front of her. She didn’t look at her questioner. Bosch had been reading people in interviews and interrogations for most of his adult life. In that moment he knew she had sent Elias the anonymous note. He just couldn’t figure out why. He glanced up again at Richter and saw that the security man was also closely studying the woman. Bosch wondered if he was reading the same thing. He decided to move on.

“The house where this crime took place. The one in Brentwood. Who owns that now?”